


The Right Wind

by Avis_Shadow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ghosts, Hurt Merlin, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Merlin Horror Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avis_Shadow/pseuds/Avis_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a cycle to what we call life.  And if there's one thing Arthur wasn't planning on doing when he went on a trip to a cabin with his friends, it was getting stuck in a power struggle between two powerful forces in this circle--specifically those in the "death" portion.  But maybe the friendly (and endearing) ghost Merlin will make it all worth it in the end.  Written for Merlin Horror 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is my first foray into the world of writing fanfiction (although I've been an avid reader for a while). This was written for the MerlinHorror2013 fest, prompt number 14: 
> 
> Arthur and the knights decide to rent a cabin/house in the forest after they finish university, intending to have some time off and some fun. Merlin is a ghost who died years ago under mysterious circumstances, who is trapped in the house and can't get out. He's completely harmless, but there’s some kind of presence holding Merlin inside the house that always makes sure to punish Merlin (the reason why is up to you) and takes it upon itself to scare all hosts of the house so Merlin never finds company for too long. Arthur notices Merlin's presence and just as something is starting to blossom between them, in spite of the circumstances, things start to go wrong, and Merlin's ghosts come back to haunt them all.
> 
> Many thanks for all of M's help with bouncing ideas around and beta-ing...and for getting me into the fest in the first place!

There is a cycle to what we call life.  The curtain opens when we are born. Weak-minded, screaming for the most basic of necessities, we are unable to care for ourselves at first.  Then, our bodies strengthen and through trial and error, we find out how to survive—how to best keep those curtains open on our act just a little longer.  It is also during this time that we first catch a glimpse of what lies ahead; we see a curtain opening on a new cousin only to see another close on a grandparent.

That first glimpse of the closing curtain consumes us.  It lies, in the corners of our minds, spreading like a web with small tendrils slowly intertwining themselves with our thoughts until they can no longer be separated.   And every time we see death, that first seed of thought pulses stronger—deeper.  As we move through life, death inevitably looms closer, nearer, until the darkness rears up like a wave in front of us, blocking anything else from view.

And then, when the darkness finally swallows us whole, as we bow off stage and the curtain closes, we turn around to see dark expanses in every direction.  A land of nothing for those who have become nothing; this land, this land where everything is laid to waste rather than rest, is the end. 

And yet, and yet, this land exists.  It’s here.  It’s the start of something. So is it the end or the beginning? 

Perhaps it is neither, or both; perhaps, this land is where the ends of the circle of existence can be clasped and held together.

Welcome to the beginning of the end.

~Excerpt from Cyclic Destinies by Kilgharrah

* * *

Arthur slowly followed the figure before him, its ethereal glow allowing him to see it even through the inky blackness threatening to swallow them.  The ghost—for it couldn’t really be anything else—paused, and while ducking around a corner to avoid being seen, Arthur briefly considered that investigating the glow he’d seen beneath the bedroom door may _not_ have been the brightest idea he’d ever had.

 It was almost on par with the time he’d decided to try to fight a dragon by jumping from a tree onto its back, leaving him bawling with a broken arm while his friends, his knights, ran to get help…What?  He’d only been 8 at the time!

And now, thinking about those same friends who were sleeping in the room he’d just vacated, snoring away and unable to help him, Arthur felt his current predicament had just upgraded itself to his worst idea of all time.

The light reflecting from the walls faded, dancing away as the source bobbed down the hallway toward—Arthur glanced around the corner—the staircase.  Arthur waited until the light seemed to indicate that the apparition had moved most of the way down the stairs, waited until he could barely see the outline of the stair’s entrance, before continuing his pursuit.  He was just nearing the top of the stairs and trying to remember where all of the creaky boards were when he heard the voices.

They were faint at first, so much so that Arthur wondered if he was actually hearing the breathy mumbles, but if he focused enough he could make out the words.

The first voice was higher, softer. “—shouldn’t we at least warn them?  I mean, _I’m_ danger enough, but if she—” The voice was cut off when there was a rattling, wrenching noise from the windows; one that Arthur _really_ hoped was just the wind.

There was dead silence for a moment, Arthur frozen with his left foot hovering above the step he’d been trying to inch down to.  After a few seconds—just as Arthur was starting to worry he’d topple over from his unbalanced position—there was the call of an owl.  And while the call wasn’t particularly calming, sounding more like a screech than anything else, the other two seemed to take it as an all-clear as a voice that was a bit deeper but just as whispery started speaking.

“You should know better than to even come close to talking about that.  Who know what could happen if the right _wind_ blows.”  Arthur could swear there was a hidden meaning in that sentence, but he didn’t have time to ponder what as the voice continued in an even quieter whisper, prompting Arthur to shift down another step.  “And you are in no way a danger.  You know that we have the cabin protected.  Unless one of them decides to go outside, there will be no problems.”

“But Mer—“

“Shhhh!  Saying my name is the fastest way to get _her “_ There were some ominous thuds from what sounded like the front door this time, but the voice rushed on and Arthur used the opportunity to close the distance between him and the door at the bottom of the staircase, allowing him to see inside. “Attention.  Please, just don’t worry about it.  We’ve done this before and we’ll do this again.  And again.  And again.” With every repetition the voice got quieter, wearier.  Arthur found he couldn’t stop himself from leaning around the corner just the tiniest bit, seized by the need to see who the voice belonged to.  Who was this teen and what had he gone through?

The teen in question had his back to Arthur with what must have once been black hair spiking up in every direction, each strand adding to the blue glow that seemed to swirl around him.  He was tall and rather thin; his shoulders slumped as though he was supporting a huge weight.  Arthur estimated that they would be about the same age if the teen were a normal one—the shifting mists that seemed to make up his “body” proving just how abnormal he was.

Arthur moved his gaze to the other ghost.  She also seemed to be about his age, but was perhaps even skinnier than the boy was—lighter shadows illuminating where her bones would usually be.  Arthur shuddered at the realization that she’d probably appear as little more than a ghostly skeleton in the daylight, her lanky and tangled strands of hair adding to her wraith-like appearance.

The two ghosts were still staring at each other, having an intense silent conversation if the look on the girl’s dirt-smeared face was any indication.  Then, there was a change.  A sound, a shift in the breeze, Arthur wasn’t sure, but all of a sudden the girl broke the staring contest.  Her jaw was clenched as she lifted her head, her eyes narrowed and spitting fire, only to widen in surprised horror a moment later.  And Arthur didn’t care that the boy was also turning around, didn’t care that there was a distant creak in the living room; Arthur didn’t care because the girl’s gaze was locked with his own.  He’d been noticed.

And now the boy was looking at him too.  In a rather angry fashion.  Shit.

While Arthur seemed to be frozen in place, unable to do anything besides continue to stare and hope that this was all a very bad dream—that he hadn’t just been discovered by the ghosts that he’d been _stalking—_ the spirits didn’t seem to have the same problem.  After a brief moment of stunned silence, there was a flurry of movement and sound as they began arguing.

“Great! Now what are we going to do?!”

The boy groaned, turning back to the girl and grabbing her shoulders. “Freya!  Listen, it’s not that big of a deal.  Just get out of here and I’ll take care of it.  It’ll just make it worse if you’re found here.”

“I’m not worried about me!  What’s going to happen to you when those _humans_ decide to start sniffing around and trying to find us?  You’ll be blamed.” The girl’s—Freya’s—lowered voice did nothing to disguise the disgust in her statement.  Arthur thought about informing them that a _human_ was still in hearing range, the boards under his feet creaking as he shifted forward. 

However, the creaking continued after Arthur stopped moving; a steady creak-thud-creak-thud beating to the footsteps of someone—some _thing_ —approaching.  Arthur wasn’t the only one to hear it either if the mixture of terror and determination on the boy’s face was any indication.

“Freya! Go now!”

“No, I can’t just leave you here Merlin!”  Both Freya’s and Merlin’s eyes widened—presumably because of the use of his name—and the approaching presence paused as there was a drifting, disembodied chuckle that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.

Merlin’s desperate whisper of “Damn it Freya, _please_!” seemed to be the final push she needed and with a quick squeeze to Merlin’s hand, she faded from the kitchen—allowing an inky blackness to fill corners that had once been illuminated.  The steps had started again and the creak-thud was so close now, just on the other side of the door; Merlin’s eyes bored into Arthur’s, entreating him, begging him for something.  Creak-thud.

Arthur didn’t know for sure what Merlin wanted, but about the only thing he could do was huddle back into the shadowed alcove provided by the stairs.

Creak-thud.

All the warmth seemed to drain from the room and Arthur watched as Merlin’s light grew weaker, watched as he drew into himself and hunched his shoulders—making himself a smaller target. But a smaller target for what?

Creak-thud.

Arthur was certain he was about to find out.

Creak-thud.  With that final step and drawn-out groan, the door swung open.

Arthur wasn’t sure what he was expecting.  Perhaps a monster with a lot of eyeballs.  Or tentacles.  Or maybe even a demon of some sort.  What Arthur wasn’t expecting was something that sent shivers down his spine just by walking across the room.

If Arthur didn’t know better, he would think that what entered the room was a normal woman.  As it was however, her effortless glide, the swish of her cloak and the clink of metal boots all gave her a far more sinister feel than anything Arthur had encountered before.

Her steady steps hesitated the briefest moment as she passed Arthur, her cloaked face tilting to the side just the tiniest bit as if considering an interesting object held in the palm of her hand.  One of her hands twitched, escaping the folds of her cloak; allowing Arthur to catch a glimpse of long fingers, tipped with pointed nails the color of a deep, deadly red and framed by a circle of silver glinting poisonously on her wrist.  Even as she moved on—moved closer to Merlin—he found he couldn’t release the breath he was holding.

She stopped barely a hand span’s distance from Merlin, her soft breath rustling the tips of the hair on Merlin’s bowed head.  Slowly, the hand that Arthur had seen twitch rose and removed the hood from her head, uncovering a cascade of bright blonde curls that drifted perfectly down her back.  And then she spoke, her had still hovering in the air around Merlin—almost stroking it.

“Hello Merlin.”  At sound of his name, Merlin started trembling, prompting an amused smirk from the woman as she moved her hand even closer to Merlin.

“What?  No response for me today?  Usually you’re so…” Merlin flinched as her finger made contact with his skin, the area around the touch going dark and diseased-looking. “Talkative.”  Keeping her finger in contact with Merlin, she slowly started walking around him, leaving behind a twisting stripe of darkness.  Arthur couldn’t help curling his hands into fists, the need to do _something_ to help overwhelming as Merlin continued to tremble.

Having completed a partial circle and now standing behind Merlin, she griped Merlin’s chin, forcing it up, and leaned over his shoulder whispering “Tell me, my little caged bird, what should I do to punish you this time?”

Merlin actually shuddered this time before finally responding, with only a slight tremble in his voice “Punish, Morgause?”  Morgause’s hand drifted to Merlin’s neck where it started idly stroking over the pulse point, the red of her nails looking like ruby droplets of blood.

“Of course, little birdy.  Don’t think I don’t know about that little kitty cat that was visiting earlier.  I don’t believe I gave my permission for her to visit, did I?” As she spoke, her nails started digging into Merlin’s neck; a move that would have surely drawn blood if Merlin was still alive.  “After all, we can’t have that…thing tainting you.” Merlin’s eyes clenched closed before opening again and looking at Arthur with pained resignation.

Just as Arthur was about to rush in—and damn the consequences—Morgause released Merlin’s neck, moving with a clank, clank, clank of her boots until she was standing in front of Merlin once more. “Very well Emrys, I will play your game of silence.  Just know that I know everything that goes on here.  There will never be an escape for you—nor do you deserve one.” Merlin looked even more pained and conflicted at this.  Morgause’s hand reached forward, cupping Merlin’s face once more in an almost _fond_ fashion. “Playing at these little follies of yours will only last for so long, before my patience wears thin, and you will find the extent of what I can do to you with your own powers.”  With this said Morgause withdrew her hand, fingers digging in and leaving behind oozing black gashes, and vanished into the dark shadows.

Arthur’s breath finally released, the tension of the past few minutes finally passing.  Looking out into the kitchen, he noticed that Merlin had fallen to his knees and now sat on the floor, his ghostly knees sinking the tiniest bit into the floor.  Struck by an urge to assure that he was okay, Arthur rushed over to Merlin, kneeling next to him and trying to determine how exactly one touched a ghost.

Merlin seemed to rouse himself with Arthur’s proximity and slightly lifted his head, Arthur catching his eye and making sure he had focused before speaking.

“What the hell was that?!” Okay, not the best line to start out with, but Arthur was still a bit shell shocked and what exactly do you say to a ghost that you were stalking earlier tonight?

There was a snort from Merlin—Arthur was glad to note that the dark scratches from Morgause were starting to fade slowly—and when he spoke, his voice came out raspy.  “Jeez, are you always such a prat to people you’ve just met?”  And that, that threw Arthur for a loop.

Floundering for something to say in the face of the crystal blue orbs now gazing into his own in a rather impish fashion, his mouth once again took over for his brain. “Are ghosts allowed to call themselves people?”

Merlin’s face puffed up in a rather amusing fashion in response. “God, I was joking before, but prat is actually your default setting isn’t it?”  Merlin shuffled around and shifted so he was sitting cross-legged across from Arthur and—Arthur was fascinated to see—floating just slightly above the ground.

Arthur was still trying to think of a response—one that wasn’t prattish—when Merlin continued speaking, this time in a much more serious voice.  “Although, I suppose you could have a right to be after what you just saw…are you okay?” Merlin looked Arthur up and down, as though making sure he was all in one piece.

At this point Arthur finally started to snap out of his stupor and with a shake of his head answered the question. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s not like I was being molested by some crazy bitch.” Arthur gazed pointedly at the remains of the scratches.  “What was all that about?”

An iridescent hand quickly rose to cover the marks and Merlin glared while hunching in on himself like a wounded animal, as if accusing Arthur for bringing the marks back up when it was clearly in the past.

“It’s a long story, one you’re probably better off not knowing.”  Despite his appearance, Merlin’s voice was strong and steady.

“I’ve got time.  And I think I’m owed an explanation.” 

Merlin quirked an eyebrow in response, straightening just the slightest bit from his crouch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I owed you anything, _sire_.”

“Well, you surely must know that I wasn’t expecting my summer vacation to be interrupted by ghosts, _Mer_ —” Merlin’s hand shot out in a move that Arthur assumed was to get him to shut up by covering his mouth, but unlike a normal human hand—soft, warm, _solid_ —Merlin’s hand only briefly touched Arthur’s face before continuing on its path as if Arthur’s skin wasn’t there.

Merlin and Arthur froze—neither acknowledging the way the house groaned and shuddered as if it was aware of every word spoken.  With the first touch of ghostly fingers, Arthur had shivered as the icy touch spread over his skin, and then quaked as it moved _inside_ , freezing the blood in his veins and spreading like creeping frost.  Merlin’s eyes, wide and empty in front of him, were the only things he could see.  And then, then Arthur could see nothing as his very lungs froze and tendrils of ice clouded his sight, leaving him numb with cold as the visions began to play.

The first thing that Arthur was aware of was that he was completely numb and he was standing in a large black expanse, nothing could be seen in any direction.  Instead of being worried by this, Arthur was surprised to find himself feeling detached, like his emotions had been muted.  It wasn’t long before Arthur noticed that the darkness wasn’t quite as empty as he’d thought, inside there was something shifting, just far enough away that he couldn’t make out what it was.

As he peered at it, he felt the slightest bit of emotion leak through—fear—and the thing in the darkness undulated seeming to _sniff_ the air before turning, creeping toward him.  Arthur stared at it in a daze, feeling fear and knowing there was something he should do, something, something about moving, but couldn’t quite think of what it was.  The mass was gaining speed, taking form and doing a limping crawl across the ground on its makeshift limbs now.  A head slowly swirling into existence framed not a face, but only a mouth; a single spot of glaring white in the darkness.

Arthur’s body screamed at him, his survival instinct finally kicking in, but his limbs didn’t respond, seemingly following the will of someone else.  For the first time, Arthur realized that he was simply an observer, unable to change what happened.  The emotions he was feeling were being filtered, spilling over into him as if their owner could no longer keep them contained.

The monster was lunging at them now, crouching like a deformed cat and then opening its maw in preparation for the feast it was going to make of the body Arthur had latched onto.  Arthur fought for control, trying to do anything, unable to separate himself from what was happening.  Finally, in desperation, Arthur screamed _RUN._

Time slowed to a stop.

The beast was too close now, close enough to see the ragged teeth flecked with black matter from previous kills.  The body Arthur was in closed its eyes and curled into a crouched fetal position—unable to take any other measure of protection.  An echo went through Arthur’s mind, a litany of alternating _please_ and _too late_ followed by a wash of emotions; fear, pleading, desperation, and then grim acceptance along with one clear, heart-wrenching thought: _It’s not as if I wasn’t already dead anyway._   Arthur felt the fangs sink into their upper arm, a spreading darkness seeming to engulf him from that one point; and then there was sudden bright pulse, and the feeling of an immense wave washing _out_ of them.

And then the fangs were gone.  There was suddenly nothing around them, silence pressing down as they shivered with lingering adrenaline.  Feeling the burn of the wound on their arm, they reached for their shoulder while uncurling the tiniest bit.  Stumbling to their feet, they picked a random direction and started walking, hoping against hope that they may find someone to help them—and that the scent of their blood wouldn’t draw anything else to them.

It was after they were stumbling along for what could have been hours or minutes that they saw a dim light in the distance.  Feeling urgency and a hope that they quickly tried to squash, they broke out into a trembling run, going faster and faster as they got closer to the light and slowing only once they were standing with their toes just touching the halo created by what appeared to be a bright doorway.  They were aware of more undulating, moving _things_ coming to life behind them—drawn even faster to the scent of blood and hope than to fear—but they hesitated to take a step forward into the light; what if it was worse than what lay behind them?  The light offered no guarantee, no hint of what could happen.

Their thoughts were still stalled when an old, papery voice broke through the rustling, sliding, _squelching_ sounds of the approaching danger.  “My child, why do you not approach the light?”  Their head snapped up and they found an old man, sitting on an intricately carved throne, clothed in finery but covered in cobwebs as though he had not moved in a very long time.  They took a hesitating step forward, drawn to him simply because the monsters following them seemed to still and silence when he spoke.

The old man seemed to read their mind and gave them a tired smile of encouragement, prompting them into movement with a wave of his trident.  They took a step forward, and then another, breathing a sigh of relief when they were completely illuminated by the light.  The light seemed to invigorate them, seemed to make them feel _alive_ again. “There; the light is better, is it not?  Now tell me child, what is it that draws you here?”

They opened their mouth to answer. “The-the light, it was just so—the darkness—” Arthur felt a great _wrench_ as what was said was not what he was expecting and he found himself being torn from the other boy’s consciousness, out of his body.  Exactly how long had they been having the same thoughts; sharing the same body?  Arthur shook his unease at being so blended from his mind and put it aside to consider later when he was somewhere safer and actually knew what was going on.

“Ah, I see.  So you can see the door then?  Not everyone can you know—that’s why I’m here.”

“Why you are here?” The boy parroted and Arthur was struck by the thought that he _knew_ this boy’s voice.  What was Merlin doing here?

“Indeed.  You see, I am the Fisher King—no, don’t tell me your name child!” The King quickly said as Merlin opened his mouth to give his name in return.  “Names hold far too much power.   If the wrong person gets wind of it then there is very little that can save you.”  Merlin slowly closed his mouth and nodded at the king to continue.

“As I was saying, I am the Fisher King.  I guard one of the doors that lead both into and out of this land that you see here.  I used to be able to extend the light of the door to many more, but now my power has waned and only a few can see it.  The ones who can’t, well…” He looked off into the darkness behind Arthur and Merlin and they turned around, seeing the beings that had been chasing them before still oozing around the edges of the circle.  “They become like that.”

“You mean those are people?  What happened to them?”

The Fisher King sighed.  “They darkness does strange things to people.  They wander, losing a piece of themselves at a time, slowly forgetting who they were in their desperation to escape.”

Arthur glanced back at Merlin to see him shudder, his hand going up to his arm where the bite mark was.  “Will that happen to me?”

“No, no, child it will not.  I am the guardian of this door, and it is therefore my privilege to allow passage to those who are able to see it.  You though, you may be my last.  I have grown weary and fear that I cannot protect the door any longer.  Therefore, you will be sent to the other side, but you will also bear with you the key to the door.”

The Fisher King slowly withdrew from his robes a glass container that seemed to glow with a warm light that pulsated gently in time with the door that it was apparently the key to.  The King slowly reached out with his shaking hand to give the container to Merlin.

“What?  You—you can’t just _give_ this to me!”  Even as he protested, Arthur saw Merlin’s hand reach out to receive the key.

“I’m afraid there’s no one else, child.  It is only you who can be entrusted with this.”  Merlin’s hand wrapped around the glass container and the light burned even brighter, causing Arthur to have to turn away to shield his eyes.  When he turned back around, the key was gone and Merlin was staring at his hand as if it didn’t belong on his body while the Fisher King smiled.

“You see?  The key belongs with you.  If you should ever have need of it, then it will answer your call.  Oh what’s this?”  The Fisher King was peering behind Merlin and Arthur again and as they turned around, one of the monsters seemed to writhe and then slowly took the form of a young woman, slowly stepping into the light; revealing it to be the girl Merlin had been talking to earlier—Freya if Arthur remembered correctly.  “My, I’ve never seen one of the dorocha retake their original form!  There is still darkness around you, but I can almost feel it being chased away by the key.”  The king turned back to Merlin.  “It is your choice what to do with her, child.  You are now the guardian.  But beware; the darkness she possesses will never completely fade.”

Merlin didn’t even need to think about it, seeming to have become used to his role very quickly—but then again, Arthur thought, what other choice did he have?  “I’ll take her with me.  You said that the key was helping chase away the darkness, yes?” The king nodded. “Then it wouldn’t be right for me to leave her behind when I can help her.”  Merlin and Freya exchanged small smiles.

“Very well, child.  I will open the door now.”  The king concentrated and seemed to be fading into nothing as the light grew stronger.  Just as Merlin, Arthur, and Freya were about to be swallowed by the light the king spoke one more time. “I warn you again.  Names are powerful, but they are not evil.  Just as a name can be used to enslave someone, it can also be freeing.  Use the door wisely and be well, Merlin.”  Merlin and Arthur both looked surprised at the King—how had he known Merlin’s name?—and were just in time to see the king fade, his trident falling with a clang to the ground and leaving a lonely chair surrounded by darkness as the last of the light bore them to their destination.

When the light finally cleared, Merlin and Freya were in a pile of limbs in the kitchen and Arthur was hovering behind them—still only an observer—when a shadow fell over them.  Above them was Morgause, looking far more normal than she had before and that perhaps scared Arthur more than anything else he’d seen tonight.  It was when she opened her mouth—still normal—and sweetly asked if Merlin and Freya were okay and what their names were that Arthur felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Merlin, dazed and pleased to finally be out of the darkness, forgot the Fisher King’s warnings.  Arthur wanted to yell; wanted to scream at him for it, but because Arthur got the feeling that this had already happened—that he was simply seeing an old memory—he wasn’t able to do anything as Merlin did the one thing he’d been told not to do.  He told her his name.

It was as Morgause’s answering gleeful smirk formed that the world around Arthur focused down to a pinpoint and his view cut out—fading like the end of a film.

 _This_ , he thought, _this was the beginning of the end_.

 

Arthur’s mind slammed back into his body just as Merlin removed his hand.  Arthur could still feel the lingering icicles the ghostly touch had left behind, but he was slowly warming back up—regaining control of his body.  Once he’d grounded himself, Arthur glanced up to see how Merlin was only to find him still in a daze, staring somewhere in the center of Arthur’s chest; his face haunted as the echoes of his memories filled his mind.

Arthur lifted a hand, slowly so as not to startle Merlin and slowly moved it to his shoulder—the shoulder that Arthur could now see had lingering scars in the shape of teeth marks.  Arthur’s hand moved as if to gently stroke over the spot—perhaps to soothe the remembered pain—but Merlin violently jerked out of his stupor as soon as the hand was within touching distance and threw himself backwards from Arthur, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“Merl—“ Arthur began only to be interrupted.

“STOP!  No, no, just stay away!”  Merlin’s breaths sped up and he sounded near hysterical, prompting Arthur into raising his palms in a placating gesture.

“Okay, it’s okay.  You’re okay now.”

Merlin’s hollow laugh was painful to hear. “No, no you’re wrong.  Nothing’s okay.  Everything is royally messed up.  You’re not supposed to even _be_ here!”

Arthur was trying really hard not to get frustrated, but it was getting rather hard not to when Merlin just wouldn’t _listen._   Every time Arthur tried to get a word out, Merlin quickly interrupted him and seemed to get even more upset.  It was after Merlin insisted once again that Arthur wasn’t involved, wasn’t a part of this—seemingly forgetting that Arthur had just been in his _head_ —that he snapped.

“That’s enough!  You can’t say that I’m not a part of this anymore! I was just in your head damn it!  I know how you feel, now just let me in. _Talk to me!_ ”  Arthur didn’t even pause to consider that he really shouldn’t care about Merlin this much given they had just met that evening; something made Arthur feel as if he’d known Merlin for far longer than that.

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped and Merlin disappeared, only to reappear inches from Arthur’s nose; his cold breath tickling Arthur’s cheek and his eyes glinting like sharp diamonds in the dim moonlight from the kitchen window.  He looked like a demon.  Arthur briefly wondered if the bite from the dorocha had left a mark on Merlin; a lingering darkness similar to the one left in Freya.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear.” Merlin’s voice was low and raspy, almost guttural. “You do not know me.  You don’t know where I come from, nor do you know where I want to go.  You have absolutely no. right. To be anywhere near me.  So stay away for your own good.”  And with that Merlin vanished, leaving the kitchen dark but for the digital clock on the stove and the soft light from the moon.

Feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach, Arthur slumped in one of the chairs next to the kitchen table.  He supposed he had pushed Merlin too far, but at the same time it didn’t feel like Merlin should have reacted that strongly.  Arthur didn’t know what it was, but being in Merlin’s head as he had been—close enough that he’d actually felt as though they were one entity for a while—had made him feel like he knew how Merlin ticked.  Sure, he didn’t know how he’d died, or where he came from or anything, but he’d _felt_ Merlin’s inner spirit; that sense of joy and life that seemed to shine through the darkest hazes.  So if Arthur thought he knew Merlin—and he was pretty sure he did—what had made Merlin think he didn’t?  Arthur could think of only one answer.

Morgause.

Arthur had seen what had happened up until the point that Merlin had made it to this world—to this cabin in fact—but he only had the vaguest ideas of what Morgause did to him after that, what she was still doing to him.  Arthur was struck by the need to save Merlin and free him from Morgause.

Rapidly making plans in his head, Arthur realized he couldn’t do anything on his own—he had no knowledge of anything supernatural.  So, falling back into old patterns, Arthur stood from the table and moved toward the staircase that led to the bedroom--and reinforcements.

After the intense happenings of earlier, the path back to the bedroom was almost eerily silent.  The paintings on the walls were calm, picturesque scenes and the walls were a uniform darkness; no hint of a supernatural light source anywhere.  It could all have easily just been a dream, the stress of graduating and trying to find his way in the world finally taking its toll.

But Arthur had never been one to ignore his reality—at least, not when he had seen it quite so clearly.  And so, when Arthur’s feet slowed to a stop at the bedroom door, he didn’t turn his back on what was happening, he didn’t deny his reality and instead resolved to wake his friends to theirs.

With a deep breath, he opened to door to the silent and peaceful bedroom.  Surveying those snoring in various locations around the room, he tried to decide who he should approach first.  Should he go with Percy?  He’d be able to lend to most physical strength, but wasn’t likely to believe him right away.  Elyan wouldn’t to want to believe what was going on in the cabin—it had been his idea to come here and his sister was one of its caretakers.  Leon was the most practical, but while his level-headedness was generally a godsend, ghosts weren’t something he’d be able t o believe.  That left Lance and Gwaine. 

Right.  Lance it was.

As he moved toward Lance’s sleeping bag, Arthur’s footsteps remained slow and careful; who knew how far Morgause’s knowledge of the cabin’s happenings extended?  And after the way Merlin and he had been in each other’s heads earlier, Arthur wasn’t finding it difficult to believe that other things could be possible as well.

Lance was softly snoring, which was a bit strange as he was generally the perfect “gentleman” at all times—which meant not snoring, lest it disturb others.  Lance was also generally a light sleeper, so when reaching out and tapping his shoulder didn’t cause a response, Arthur became slightly worried.  With the thought that perhaps Lance had just been really tired that night, Arthur moved on to shaking his shoulder slightly; then shaking harder and removing his blankets.  When this still didn’t work, Arthur quickly turned to the next nearest of his friends—Elyan—and tried again.

The results were the same.

Arthur tried to wake all of his friends and got not even the slightest twitch from any of them.  Clearly something, something supernatural, had gotten to them before Arthur had.  And now, now Arthur was at a loss because he had no backup plan for his reinforcements—his friends were his first and last resort.

“I’m sorry.”  The unexpected words made Arthur jerk.  Already knowing what—or rather who—he was going to see, Arthur slowly turned toward the corner.

Merlin was hovering there as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.  Arthur waited for a moment to see if any other words would be forthcoming and when none were he responded. “For what?”

Ghostly shoulders shrugged and there was a self-deprecating laugh.  “Everything?  It’s kind of my fault that you guys are in this predicament.  If I wasn’t here…”

Arthur sighed.  “Listen, there’s no way that I would blame you for what’s happening.  I mean, it’s not like you’re the one who cursed my friends.”  The look on Merlin’s face at those words gave Arthur pause. “Did you?”

“Well, they’re not really _cursed_ per se—”

“What?!  Why in the world did you put them to sleep?  They’ve never done anything to you!”

“It had nothing to do what they’ve done.  I put them to sleep beca—”

“What could they have possibly done to deserve that!”

“Now really, if you’d just let me explain—”

“I demand you release them!”

“No.”  The blunt answer finally cut through Arthur’s rant, making him pause.

“No?”  Merlin’s lip quirked a bit at Arthur’s incredulous tone.

“No.  Now will you let me explain?”  When there was no answer apart from Arthur’s hard stare, Merlin continued.  “I put them to sleep to protect them from Morgause.”  The last part was whispered, barely a breath, reminding Arthur of the ears constantly listening in the house.

“And how, pray tell, would sleeping—making them unable to fight what’s attacking them—protect them?”  Arthur crossed his arms, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“Sometimes our” Merlin paused and seemed to be searching for the right word. “Powers have different restrictions.  The one we were talking about?  She, she has a lot of power; but, she can’t use it if the one she wants to use it on doesn’t know she’s there.”

“So wait, ghosts can’t attack people unless those people _think_ there’s a ghost?  That doesn’t even make sense!” Arthur was tempted to throw his hands up in the air like a three year old, but resisted…barely.

“No, no, no.  That’s not what I meant.  Our powers take on our personality traits to a certain extent.  _Her_ personality is very direct.  She likes to challenge people, almost like a contest of wills.” Merlin’s voice started getting fainter as he spoke. “She likes everyone to know who’s in control.”  The last was said with a shiver.  Arthur wondered again what Morgause had done to Merlin.

“So you’re saying that because they don’t know she’s there she can’t _duel_ them?” Merlin looked relieved; perhaps because Arthur hadn’t asked about Merlin’s experiences.

“Yes, exactly!” Arthur dared anyone to doubt the earnest expression on Merlin’s face.

“So where exactly does that leave me?”  Merlin’s face fell a bit; shifting rapidly from one emotion to another before settling on annoyance.

“ _That’s_ your fault; you and your stupid prattish pride and crap.”

Arthur barked a laugh. “How is my _pride and crap_ the deciding factor in this?  _Please_ be clearer.”  Arthur really wanted to call Merlin by name but the ever-looming threat of Morgause stopped him, dampening the mood just a bit.

Merlin seemed to know what Arthur was thinking; his face softening. “I don’t know why you’re awake.  For some reason my powers—which have always worked before, by the way—didn’t work on you!” Merlin paused, tilting his head. “Perhaps they don’t work on clotpoles?”

“Clotpole?  Is that ghost slang or something?”  Arthur wondered how exactly they had gotten so far off topic.

“Not really.  It’s a term just for you.”  Merlin’s quick grin lit up the room a bit, his ever-present glow getting brighter.

“So wait, let me get this straight.  You’ve given me a _pet name_?”  Arthur was fascinated to find that ghosts could indeed blush.  Interesting.

“N-no!  Of course not!  Where would you get that idea?”  Merlin’s flustered face smoothed out far too quickly, turning serious once more.  “Anyway, we have to get you somewhere safe.  Especially if _she_ saw what happened earlier when I touched you.”  Merlin’s hand twitched a bit, almost like he wanted to reach forward again.

Arthur quickly sobered at those words. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just suggest I run away.”  When Merlin opened his mouth to protest, Arthur quickly continued on. “But while we’re on the subject; what _did_ happen earlier?  It was…I think I was in your mind.  I saw things.”

“What happened…it’s never happened before.  And I don’t know why.  Ever since you’ve gotten here, I don’t know anything!  Everything’s wrong!”

Arthur could sympathize.  Ever since he got to this cabin, everything he thought he knew had been challenged.  “Maybe this time something is actually right.  Because, what happened to you?  What I saw?  That was wrong.  You know that, right?”  Arthur had never counted himself among the super-mushy or sensitive, but there was just something about Merlin that made Arthur want to protect him.  “We can fix things.  I can help you.”

“No one can help me.”

“You’ve just been saying how much has been changing since I showed up.  Why can’t this change too?”  Arthur started reaching for Merlin’s hand.  “Let’s just give it a shot, okay?”

Merlin took a deep breath.  “Okay.”  Their fingers just brushed as Merlin reached back.

“My, my, my.  What do we have here?”  Merlin an Arthur jerked apart, whirling to watch as Morgause phased out of the wall.  Emerging from the shadows, she looked just as deadly as before but this time there was something different.  “Ohhhh, has my little birdy found someone to play with?”

As Morgause moved closer to Merlin, Arthur observed the subtle differences from the last time he’d seen her.  There was an extra jerkiness to her movements as she walked with her head down; her body going fuzzy and jumping back into clarity with each step.  Her hair was knotted and floating just the slightest bit as though she’d been pulling on it.  The biggest difference though could only be seen when she lifted her head.

A crazed smile was pulling on her lips, twisted grotesquely because of a large scar spider-webbing down her face—a scar that Arthur didn’t remember seeing earlier.  It was knotted and winding, weaving around her right eye and highlighting the eye’s bloody, ruby hue.  “Come, little hawk.  Wouldn’t you rather play with me instead?”  Morgause continued forward with smooth, stalking steps; getting closer to her prey and releasing a soft, airy chuckle that made Arthur shiver.

It only took one glance at Merlin—who was shuddering with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with fright—for Arthur to lunge in front of him, blocking Morgause’s view.  Morgause froze, taking in Arthur for the first time and when she spoke, it was an ugly, guttural sound.

“ _You._   What are you doing? “

Not really knowing what came over him and ignoring the pounding of his heart, Arthur spoke.  “Stopping you.”  Morgause responded with a high, girly giggle before her mood swung in the other direction and she became vicious again.

“You?” There was a dawn of understanding on Morgause’s face. “ You think you’re trying to save him don’t you!  Merlin’s _mine._ And besides that; you are a mere mortal.  What could you do?”

Arthur felt a thought niggle in the back of his mind from an earlier conversation.  “Would you like to test me and find out?”  Merlin had said Morgause liked having contests with others and Arthur thought he could perhaps use that to his advantage.

Morgause’s head creaked to the side; the red eye regarding him shrewdly.  “And what would the stakes be, little princeling?”

Ignoring Merlin’s hissed “What are you _doing”_ Arthur responded.  “If I win then control is no longer yours—everyone’s free to go.  If you win, then I will leave the cabin.”  Arthur certainly wouldn’t keep his end of bargain if he lost, but he wasn’t going to tell the insane demon in front of him that.

Morgause shook her head. “Nope, not good enough.  I won’t be getting the short end of the stick!”  Rocking back and forth on her heels, Morgause seemed to think for a bit before snapping her fingers. “I know!  I want only one thing should I win dear prince.”

Arthur warily asked “And what would that be?”

Leaning forward toward Arthur, Morgause smiled gleefully. “What I desire is a gift.  A _royal_ gift.” Arthur stiffened as her words started to sink in; could she mean— “Should you lose, I will take _you_ as my prize.”

Arthur’s choices were slim, and judging by the way that Morgause was leaning even closer—eager for his response—Arthur didn’t think she would wait long before acting.  “Deal.”

A shout from Merlin overtook Morgause’s joyful crowing. “No!  You can’t do this!”  His hands tried to desperately clutch at Arthur’s arm even; passing through as though they touched nothing. “Not for me.  Please, there has to be another way!”

“We don’t have time to look for another way, M.” Arthur smirked at the way Merlin reacted to his nick-name. “Besides, I said I’d help you, remember?”

“Please, I can’t lose you too.  I should be the one protecting you!  It should be my problem!”

Morgause’s cackle interrupted them. “Now, now little birdy.  It’s my turn to play with the new toy.” Morgause leaned to the side, trying to see Merlin around the wall Arthur’s body made. “I don’t have to punish you for not sharing, do I?  I’m sure your mummy taught you better manners.”

Arthur intervened before Morgause got too distracted by Merlin.  “That’s enough.  You have a contest with me, remember?”

“Ohhhh, so demanding; you really are a little prince!” Morgause dropped into a fighting stance. “I will enjoy _teaching_ you better manners.”

Not quite knowing how the “battle” was going to work, Arthur too dropped into a fighting stance reminiscent of his fencing days.  Morgause’s deranged smile grew impossibly wider.  And then she crouched—reminding Arthur of the dorocha he’d seen in Merlin’s memories—tightening her muscles before springing forward with Arthur following suit a split-second later.  When they connected, everything was drenched in red.

The world faded away from Arthur.  He didn’t hear the snores of his friends, the wailing wind passing the windows, or Merlin yelling at him.  Arthur’s whole focus narrowed down to the red eye—spitting fire and blood and death.  There was a ripping feeling in his mind, a splitting headache developing as something—Morgause—rifled and rearranged and destroyed where she was never welcome. 

And Arthur understood.

This wasn’t a physical battle—of course it wouldn’t be when one of them was a ghost—it was exactly as Merlin said; a battle of wills.  The pain in Arthur’s head increased tenfold.  He could feel himself weakening; his will draining in the crimson drops of blood that began falling from his nose, and onto the floor. _Plop._

Arthur frantically pushed back against Morgause—she had no right to be in his _head—_ and was gratified when she had to back up.  He could do this!  But then she pushed back harder and the hold Arthur had on his mind snapped, his feet slipping on crimson puddles.

_Plop._

With a great heave, Arthur threw everything he had at Morgause, not giving up even while she stood immovable.  Morgause started laughing at his attempts.

 “This is all you have?  Oh, you poor, poor thing.  I guess you really are the _little_ prince.” Morgause looked at him with pity.  “Don’t worry princeling, I’ll still care for you when you stop this useless struggle; although you’ll have to be punished first.”

Arthur’s shredded mind struggled to keep up with what she was saying, unable to hold the threads of conversation any longer.  It was her sickening smile, her condescending pity that made Arthur scrape himself together again.  He would _not_ lose.

“Don’t you understand?!” Mogause shrieked. “It’s not just Merlin that’s mine, but his power is as well!  There’s nothing you can do!”

Arthur’s eyes whirled over to Merlin, surprised to find him crouched right by his side and offering what support he could.  Arthur latched onto that face, drawing strength from that support.  He had a reason to fight.  One larger than power.  One larger than pride.  Arthur wiped his nose, removing the traces of blood and got to his feet; stumbling a bit as he stood but holding firm.  His voice was strong as he was finally able to meet Morgause head-on; standing toe-to-toe as equals.

“You may have his power but you do not have his heart, Morgause!”  When Arthur said her name, Morgause jerked to a stop.  Arthur watched as she seemed to have an internal battle; fighting against Arthur as much as herself while Arthur stood tall with Merlin at his side.

“You-you can’t do this!  It’s not possible!” Her voice was strangled, struggling to come through her throat when she didn’t have permission to speak.  “It was my power!  No one else’s!”  Morgause dropped to her knees, weakening further and further as Arthur’s control of her became absolute.

“I believe I won the contest, Morgause.  Keep your end of the bargain and release those you control.”

Morgause, truly lost in the realms of madness now, turned her face—streaked with tears—on Merlin.  “Please.  Please, after all I have done for you, after how I cared for you; do I not deserve your friendship?”

Merlin spoke then “What we had was not friendship, Morgause.  I never enjoyed it here.” Merlin glanced at Arthur. “I deserve better than what you’ve put me through.”  Merlin turned to gaze directly into Morgauses eyes. “Pity is the only thing I feel for you.”

An awful wailing started, one so loud that Arthur had to cover his ears.  Morgause slowly uncurled herself; the sound transforming into a scream of rage as she moved.

“If I can’t have Merlin, then neither can you!  No one, no one shall hold his power, but I curse all to feel it!”  With these words, Morgause reached _into_ her chest and came out with a hazy, moving blob.

Stunned, Arthur watched as Morgause started giggling and crooning at it, her skin becoming see through the longer she held it.  “No!  We have to stop her!  If she uses that—“

Morgause giggled softly at Merlin’s frantic voice.  “Very good my little birdy.  I knew I liked you best.”  Her voice was fading, the blob pulsing stronger as it seemed to draw in her remaining power in.  Morgause went back to her crooning as Merlin lunged across the reaching for the pulsing shape and Arthur stood transfixed by her song.

 

“I hold the gate, the gate to more. 

I release it, I release the door. 

Taking my life as its due,

I curse, I curse eternal damnation unto you.”  And then she faded away, leaving her song echoing in Arthur’s mind and the _gate_ dropping to the floor just as Merlin’s hands reached for it.

 

There was an explosion of cold and darkness from the spot where the gate hit the ground and as Arthur and Merlin watched, wispy hands reached from inside the gate, clamoring to get into a world lighter than their own.  Looking at all of his friends, still snoring away, Arthur realized how vulnerable they were.  Morgause couldn’t attack them when they were asleep because her pride and powers wouldn’t allow it; the dorocha were a whole different matter.

As the first of them forced their way through, Arthur turned desperately to Merlin; yelling over the eerie screams of the dorocha “How can we stop them?”

“I don’t know!”  Merlin was looking around frantically, trying to track all of the dorocha at once.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?  I thought you had the key!”  More and more dorocha were pouring through the gate, forcing Arthur and Merlin to back toward a corner and the scant protection it provided.

“I do!  But Morgause—she had so much of my power for so long.  It feels like it’s been poisoned.  I-I don’t think I can use it.”

Arthur was about to respond when he caught sight of a bunch of the dorocha hovering over his friends; he tried to get over to them but there were wispy floating clouds in almost every space of the room now, turning it into an icebox and making it impossible to move unless you wanted to become part of the furnishings.  His friends, oblivious to their danger, slept on; their little puffs of breath swirling the mists around the fingers of the dorocha as they reached toward some of the only heat sources in the room.

He knew it was going to happen, but it didn’t hurt any less as he watched the dorocha seep into his friends; occupying their bodies and one-by-one sitting up with ice-glazed eyes and frosted hair.  All of his friends—the people he trusted with his life—then lumbered to their feet as if they were puppets and turned toward the corner Arthur and Merlin were in.

Their steps were slow and shuffling, probably stiff from cold.  As they got closer though, Arthur saw that their eyes were focused on one specific point. On one specific person.  Turning to Merlin, Arthur desperately yelled “You have to run!  Get out of here!  They’re after you!”

“No I can’t leave you!  Besides, they’ll follow me wherever I go; I can’t put other people in danger too!”

“But—” Surely Arthur could make Merlin see why he had to leave.

“No.  To quote you from earlier: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just suggest I run away.”  Merlin’s fierce eyes showed Arthur there would be no further arguing and Arthur gave in grudgingly.

The dorocha continued closing in despite Merlin using what power he could and Arthur trying to take out his friends without hurting them.  For every one they took down, two more seemed to appear in its place;  It wasn’t long before Arthur and Merlin were exhausted, overwhelmed, and despairing.

Merlin and Arthur gazed at each other, accepting that this would probably be the end.  They didn’t have any more tricks to pull out of a hat and they had gotten lucky too many times that night for it to happen again.  They closed their eyes; grasping hands as well as they could and faced the dorocha together.

Or at least that was the plan.  Instead, as the blow was coming down—with Arthur fully expecting to join Merlin soon because it was _Percy_ who was delivering it—Freya fell through the ceiling and blocked the incoming floorboard-turned-weapon.

“What are you guys _doing_? I spent so much time fighting my way up here and I just find you trying to give up?”  In the middle of her rant, Freya all of a sudden faltered, he arm collapsing.

“Freya!” Merlin rushed forward to help her hold up the chunk of wood while Arthur lunged forward and tackled Percy so he fell on his back, hitting his head hard enough to be knocked out cold.

When Arthur scrambled back to Merlin, he was holding Freya as she trembled in his arms.  “What’s wrong with her?”

“She-she, well you saw the memory.  She’s losing her control; starting to slip back into their ranks.” Here Merlin indicated all of the surrounding dorocha. “And I can’t even help her because Morgause messed with the key so badly!”

Freya gently lifted up her hand. “I-it’s okay.  It’s not your fault.  I mean, I don’t want to be one of them again, but maybe it’s meant to be, yeah?”  Freya looked toward Arthur.  “Just, make sure you kill me?  I don’t want to hurt anyone.”  Arthur couldn’t do anything but not mutely.

Then, before Arthur could go and get Merlin to let go of her, she was screaming and _morphing_ ;  her body twisted, melted and darkened until she was that same deformed-cat monster that Arthur had seen in Merlin’s memories.  The other dorocha formed a tighter circle around them almost watching in anticipation as she finished morphing.  And then, when the screaming cut off, they all attacked; overwhelming Arthur and Merlin..

Arthur found himself on his back and being held down by Leon and Lance, both of whom seemed to be fighting for the chance to strangle him.  Through the myriad of shifting bodies Arthur could just see as Merlin was attacked by Freya—and he wasn’t even trying to fight back!

With the last of his air, Arthur managed to roar “MERLIN!”  Reaching for him across the expanse of flooring between them, just barely managing to brush their fingers together and when he did there was a bright wave of light.  The wave went out in pulses, pushing back the dorocha; removing their influence—exorcising them from his friends—and corralling them. 

Arthur had just finished getting his breath back when the last of the dorocha were pushed through the portal and the gate was closed—being bound and wrapped with the silver lines of light that Arthur thought must be the key.  And then it was silent.

Quickly scrambling to his knees, Arthur slid across the floor to Merlin while ignoring Freya; nearly choking on a sob when he saw the number of new gashes and scars littering Merlin’s mutilated body.  It was as Freya joined them with a whispered “Oh, Merlin” that Merlin’s eyes opened just the slightest bit and he cracked a pained smile. “Hey guys.”  He coughed.

“Merlin, what can we do?  How can we fix you?”  Arthur ignored the way his voice wavered—now was not the time to lose it!

Merlin wheezed.  “I…like it…when you say my name.  Think that’s what…saved us…” He winced when one of his breathes pulled some of the gashes. “Well, most of us.”

Arthur felt his chest tighten as he tried to keep it together.  “You idiot.  You’re a horrible ghost.  Only you could die when you’re already dead.”  The sun was just starting to come up, the rays of the sun erasing the lingering darkness from the events of the night.

“Heh…guess I kinda…missed that memo.” Merlin’s gaze drifted away over toward Freya. “Glad to see…you’re okay…”

“Merlin, I’m so sorry.  This whole thing—if I hadn’t turned.”  Freya’s voice broke at the end and Arthur felt a bit guilty that he couldn’t stop her from blaming herself since he blamed her a bit too.

“Don’t worry.”  Merlin smiled. “Everything’s exactly as…it’s meant to be.”  He paused here to give a wet cough. “Now that I obviously can’t…I want you to be…the guardian of the gate, Freya.”

“What?  Merlin, I can’t! My darkness—”

“Isn’t a problem…you get the key too.  About time you had…your own light, yeah?”  The light from the dawn had grown brighter and the stronger it seemed to get, the fainter Merlin seemed to be.

“Merlin.”  Arthur waited until Merlin’s eyes had sluggishly made their way over to him.  There was so much to say but Arthur could tell there wasn’t much time left. “Thank you.”

Merlin smiled; his body mostly see-through by this point. “Don’t worry, prat, we’ll meet…” and then Merlin faded away.  Freya gathered the gate and the key, quietly leaving while Arthur just stared at the floor; feeling as though he had lost something important.

After the events at the cabin, Arthur became more distant; as though there was something he’d been through that none of his friends had.  There wasn’t anything tangible; he just seemed older.  When questioned about it, Arthur just gave a pained smile and said “The wind blew the wrong direction for me.”

Eventually the days faded into weeks and the weeks into months and then Arthur found himself going back to the cabin for Gwen’s graduation party.  Gwen was Eylan’s sister and also one of the care-takers of the cabin so it was an obvious location for the party.

 Arthur wouldn’t have gone if his friends hadn’t forced him.

It was a few hours into the party and Arthur was wandering around the cabin with his drink; looking at what had changed—not much—while trying to ignore the memories—not working—when he let out a surprised “oof” as someone slammed into him and made his drink spill all over.

Looking down at himself, Arthur started ranting at the offending party while trying to mop up a bit of the mess that’d been made of his shirt. “Really?  Do you not know how to watch where you’re going or something?  You should expect the dry-cleaning bill for this.”  Arthur observed the bright green color of the stain. “Or get me a new shirt.  What possessed them to hand out such bright colored drinks?”  Arthur finally looked up and found himself frozen as he stared into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

“So, are you always such a prat to people you’ve just met?”  Arthur struggled to shake the sense of déjà vu as he continued to stare at Merlin. “Hey, you okay?  Look I’m sorry if this is a big shock to you but—”  The rest of Merlin’s sentence was cut off as Arthur reached forward and pulled him into a crushing hug; his shoulders shaking.

They stayed like that for quite a few minutes until there was a call from down the hallway. “Hey Merlin!  Did you find Arth—Oh my…”  Gwen’s voiced squeaked a bit before she snuck out, pretending she hadn’t seen anything.  Arthur and Merlin pulled out of their hug and stared at each other before bursting out laughing.

After getting a grip on himself, Arthur reached up to cup Merlin’s neck; running his thumb over the dark scars on his throat that still remained and marveling at how solid he was.  After struggling with words for a moment, Arthur asked the first question he thought of. “How?”  Merlin’s grin was instant and Arthur was relieved that he didn’t seem too different from his less-solid self.

“Well, I don’t really know.  About the only thing I _do_ know is that there was some stuff about a cycle and a wind and maybe a coin.  Maybe a dragon and a curse?  It’s all a bit fuzzy I guess.” Merlin shrugged, looking down the hall toward the party when people started calling their names. “But we can talk later, yeah?  We have all the time in the world now.”

Arthur smiled back at Merlin, both of them turning to walk back down the hallway as a gentle wind blew through the window behind them. “Yeah, yeah we do.”

 

 

_And when, in this desolate land, the right wind blows, things can change and existences can begin anew. It’s destiny._

_~Excerpt from Cyclic Destinies by Kilgharrah        _

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. I hope it was a worthy read and lived up to the prompter's expectations (although I know the horror aspect wasn't quite as intense as those in the other stories). And please let me know if there are any errors or ways to improve! (letting me know if I did a decent job would be very welcome as well ;) )
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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